


and they will run you down, down 'til you fall

by CuriouslyRenault



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cinnamon Roll Newt Scamander, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Canon Compliant - Movie 2: Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald, Overworking, Protective Newt Scamander, Seraphina Picquery is great, Sick Character, Sick Original Percival Graves, Sickfic, War with Grindelwald
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-08-26 03:11:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16673593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuriouslyRenault/pseuds/CuriouslyRenault
Summary: Although she hadn't said anything, Seraphina was concerned about Graves.She'd known the man longer than she'd known her husband, for Merlin's sake, and he wasn't normally like this. Did he have a bad temper? Absolutely. Could he be stubborn and determined? A resounding yes. But practically rabid...? Definitely not. But then, the more she thought about it -- who did they know that made a living dealing with rabid things?A certain magizoologist, perhaps.---Or, where Graves is having a hard time dealing with Grindelwald's escape. Has overworking ever helped anything?





	and they will run you down, down 'til you fall

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Kaleo's "Way Down We Go".
> 
> I own nothing but writing, as always. This is a little longer than anything I've posted before, hopefully it works well.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

It had been a long few weeks for Percival, a long few weeks with too much paperwork and not enough Newt spread out on his desk.

\---

Percival was tired. He’d barely seen any of his boyfriend for what felt like ages; what with the international-scale crisis over Grindelwald’s escape and the numerous trips he’d had to make to foreign governments, he hadn’t had any time to take care of himself, much less Newt -- something that he felt desperately guilty for, and planned to remedy as soon as possible... which could be any time from this evening to next year, considering how badly this meeting was going. He was currently sitting with the heads of security from eleven countries, as well as his most senior Aurors. Percival could tell from the magical atmosphere in the room how tired his staff was. It was almost visible in the air, the tension was so thick: the Americans had been working overtime for a good few weeks, and were still being blamed for not working hard enough. On top of that, three of the Aurors had fallen ill already, and although the others were valiantly hanging on, Tina looked a little faint and Abernathy was turning pale. Even the coffee had run out. Percival caught Seraphina’s gaze over the rim of his cup as he knocked back the last dregs, and managed to catch the glare of irritation she sent towards the Italian director as he was doodling on a notepad. Graves would have smiled, had it not been for the pounding in his head. It was awfully warm. Must be all the people in here.

“Minister, this is something we are still feeling the fallout from, we’ve had our entire department working overtime for weeks --” Seraphina was cut off. Rudely. Percival had half a mind to hex the Minister no matter how important he was.

“This is inexcusable! Your own head of security went missing -- is America’s magical security that far behind the times?” The Prime Minister retorted nastily, fat face blossoming red, and Graves felt his mouth go dry. He forced his gaze to the table as his posture tightened. Quickly, almost violently, he cracked his knuckles. Bad habit. Especially with how much his joints already hurt. He felt achy all over.

“Do you have something to add, _Mr. Graves?”_

The table silenced. All eyes were on Graves, and he glanced up, fighting to keep his gaze level and not actually incinerate the other man. Lord knows that would only bring more paperwork. The coffee mugs around the table rattled gently. “Only that maybe Grindelwald knew we would spend far too much time sniping at each other instead of actually investigating, and maybe he’s using that to his advantage right now.” He responded evenly, and cracked another knuckle for good measure. He refused to look at Seraphina, though he could feel her eyes boring into his skull. “If we are behind on anything right now, it is not security. It is morale. You can’t expect our people to go on working forever.”

“Really?” The Minister hissed. His puffy eyes narrowed, and Graves had the vague thought that he looked somewhat like a pufferfish he and Newt had seen at an aquarium. Oh, right, the pufferfish was talking. “Because right now, I’m very much doubting the opinion of a man who was Grindelwald’s puppet for months. Whose information, for all we know, could be --”

“Could be  _what?”_ Graves was staring him down now, throwing his words out like knives, and the air around him audibly crackled with the magic, pulsing thick in the air. “My information could be  _what?”_  He let the silence fill for a few seconds before speaking again. “Might I remind you that he ran amok in your part of the world before ours, that he escaped, yes, while over American soil -- but while under  _British custody?_   I have been extensively treated, tested, investigated; I was nearly killed because I refused to offer information to him in the first place! Until you’ve had your mind torn apart, until you’ve been intimately acquainted with the scent of rotting flesh and can still taste blood when you wake up every morning --”

He knew it was overkill, now, but he was already standing, he found with some surprise. He was leaning over the table, palms flat on it. A predator by any definition.

“Graves!” Seraphina’s voice brought him back, and he still hadn’t blinked, hadn’t noticed the entire table staring at him. Graves straightened. Scooped up his folders. Turned back to the Prime Minister, and with a barely-concealed tone of rage, said, “This is a pointless meeting. Call me back when you’re ready to actually get something done. Good day, gentlemen.”

With that, he turned and left.

\---

It was with a heavy sigh that Percival walked back to his office. He knew Seraphina would be _royally_ pissed if he left the building altogether -- even though in his opinion he had every right to blow up like he did -- and he didn't really want to push her any more than he knew he had. He did know, if nothing else, that she wouldn't bother to excuse away his behavior like other leaders. She would back him up like always. Just like she had ever since their days together at Ilvermorny, when he was a dark-eyed sprite with a viscious temper and she was a light-haired girl with a perpetual look of disdain. Seraphina, more than anyone else, knew that Percival didn't get that angry without a damn good reason. Or, at least, he used to. Now he wasn't so sure.

But at the moment, he was far too tired to think about it. He really was. It weighed on him, heavily, making his shoes scrape against the floor and sweat gather at the back of his neck. Graves hadn't had the chance to deal with anything, like how he felt upon hearing that his torturer had escaped. He hadn't had a chance to do anything but throw himself into the task of diplomacy and finding Grindelwald -- again. He was the Director of Magical Security, and that made him determined, yes, but another part of him felt like he had to prove something. To his staff, to Seraphina, to himself; prove that he wasn't broken, that he could still do this. Percival had been pushing his people hard, but he was working himself harder, traveling to all sorts of foreign countries and doing everything he could to pick out news. But right now? Right now, Graves could barely unlock the wards on his door, he was feeling so lightheaded and nauseous. All he wanted to do was go home.

But first, to wait for the reaming-out from Seraphina.

He took a seat at his desk, laid his head on his folded arms, and tried to get some rest before his incoming doom.

\---+++

Although she hadn't said anything, Seraphina was concerned about Graves.

She'd known the man longer than she'd known her husband, for Merlin's sake, and he wasn't normally like this. Did he have a bad temper? Absolutely. Could he be stubborn and determined? A resounding  _yes._ But practically rabid...? Definitely not. But then, the more she thought about it -- _who did they know that made a living dealing with rabid things?_

A certain magizoologist, perhaps.

And so after Seraphina reamed out the Minister (the details of which would never leave that room and included a certain amount of threats) and left, stating that they would reconvene the next day to allow a chance for rest, the first thing she did was not go home. She didn't even stop by Percival's office. She went straight to the Owlery and penned a letter, albeit one with many false starts:

 

_Mr. Scamander (or future Graves, if the look in his eyes is any indication):_

~~_I formally request your presence at MACUSA_ ~~

~~_Percival has lost his shit_ ~~

_I require your presence at MACUSA, namely Percival's office. I don't care if you're tending to a creature. I don't care if you're in Egypt. He needs you and he needs a break ~~and I'm tired of watching him drink obscene amounts of coffee, how is he even still alive with all that caffeine?~~._

_Sincerely ~~not~~  yours,_

_Seraphina Picquery, President, Magical Congress of the United States of America_

 

She attached the letter to the nearest owl and bid it to its destination with a fond pat on the head. Feeling somewhat pleased with herself, she turned... and promptly stepped in a pile of owl droppings.

Maybe she ought to go home too.

\---

Newt Scamander was, in fact, not in Egypt as Seraphina had speculated. He wasn't even tending to a creature when he got the letter. In fact, he was standing right in front of the sink, doing dishes by hand, whistling along to the radio, and being very happy when a ruffled-looking owl slammed straight into his face.

Apparently this particular owl didn't have very good flying skills, and had misjudged the open window. It was only after fixing both he and the creature up (a bandage for his forehead, a towel to dry off the bird, who had somehow rebounded and fallen into the sink) that he thought he might actually want to look at the letter it had brought.

He was out of the house with his coat, wand, and case within a minute.

\---

MACUSA was familiar to Newt now, a place he was beginning to feel safe in. It was surprising. He'd never really stayed anywhere long enough to feel this comfortable, but the Americans were surprisingly friendly, and now every time he strode through the halls he was sure to see someone who would offer a quiet smile or a greeting. Of course, that was when things were normal. Usually, the Aurors' bullpen was a place of camaraderie and hectic activity even as they worked; now, since there was so much to be done and so many Aurors that hadn't been home to their families in a week or more, he received nothing but a tired nod from Tina. The others didn't seem to notice him.

It seemed like the Grindelwald issues were affecting more than just Percy.

It was only when Newt actually pushed open the door to Graves' office that he realized how long it had been since he had seen his husband. Over a month of being away from each other had done neither of them good, but at least Newt hadn't been working himself to death in such an obvious way. He shut the door softly behind him, and Graves didn't even stir.

The Director was leaned forward onto his desk, his arms folded, his head resting on top of them and snoring quietly. There were dark circles under his eyes that spoke of many sleepless nights, and he'd lost weight. Even while he slept he was twitching, like he was scared of something. He looked unshaven and messy and desperate, and so unlike the fastidious Percival everyone was used to. Newt set his case down by the door, crossing the room, and placed his hand on Percival's forehead, which was shiny with sweat. He felt warm. Newt frowned a little.

But then Percival stirred under his touch, and opened his eyes, and Newt smiled a little. "Hello, darling."

"Newt," he croaked out, bleary eyes trying to focus as he lifted his head. Oh. Dizzy, suddenly. But the feeling of Newt carding his hand through his hair was nice, and he leaned into it subconsciously. "Seraphina was s'pposed to come yell at me," Percival murmured softly, confused and slightly miffed. Newt shushed him a little, trying not to giggle. "She owled me and said..." Newt hesitated for a split second, trying to decide how to word her... interesting note. "...ah, she said for me to come."

Percival smiled a little and let out a short bark of a laugh, one that turned into a short coughing fit. "You mean she said I was being a nuisance and needed you to come tame me?"

"Well." Newt couldn't lie. "That may be a bit closer, yes."

They laughed together for a minute, until Newt leaned forward and pressed his lips to Graves' forehead softly. "You're burning up, darling," he whispered softly against the skin. Graves' eyes fluttered shut with an indistinct  _mmph_ noise, like a verbal shrug. Newt tried not to let himself smile too much. Merlin, was it possible for Graves to be even sweeter when he was sick? "We're going home, okay? You're going to bed."

\---

The next time Graves awoke, it was with a scream.

Nightmares. He hadn't had them for awhile now; it seemed that the focus on the escape was bringing them back. It was one of those _painful_ screams, too, high and desperate and cutting off halfway through to mix with a ragged sob. He was soaked in sweat and the room he was in was dark, which definitely was not helping his terror. Spontaneously, a lamp's bulb across the room shattered from the waves of magic radiating off of him.

That was when he heard footsteps come running in, and he was scrambling for his wand, still lost in a haze of fear until he heard a hissed  _lumos_ and saw Newt's face appear out of the darkness, strained with anxiety. "Newt!" Percival sounded frantic, voice cracking, and then the magizoologist had him in his arms and the lights were on, and he burrowed his face into Newt's shoulder because suddenly the only darkness he could stand was the one he found in the touch of his husband, grounding him, calming him, rubbing circles into the small of his back. He knew Newt was saying something soft and comforting. It was still awhile before he stopped shaking and Newt held him out, green eyes searching his own grey ones.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Percival shook his head.

It was a sign of how well Newt knew him that without hesitation, he climbed in beside Graves and held him back to sleep.

\---

The next time Graves woke up, he was significantly calmer, and midday light was slanting in through the windows. He dimly became aware of the fact that Newt was still beside him, but too still to be asleep, knowing him. They lay there for a good few minutes in silence. Graves was focused on the pattern of shadowy leaves on their walls, tracing them with his eyes, trying to let the automatic tension drain from him again. He had always hated waking up, hated the feeling of disorientation before he was fully aware of himself. Ever since his capture, when he lived for months in a state of disorientation, he hated it more than ever. Still, Newt's presence beside him calmed him.

In the end, it was Newt who spoke first, quietly, gently. "Percival?"

He made a noncommittal noise to show he was awake, and he felt Newt's arm snake under his to hug around his waist. Percival closed his eyes again and breathed in their combined scent for a second, then turned over to face his lover. He could feel the magizoologist's smile even with his eyes closed.

Newt shifted up a little to press his lips to Percival's head like the night before, but then raised his free hand to cup the back of his lover's neck, cool and comforting. "Good. Your fever's broken, I think," he said, "but when was the last time you ate?"

Graves's brow creased a little. He couldn't quite remember, but he didn't want to say that and have the younger Scamander angry with him.

"Percy?" It's with a tone of warning that Newt prompted him, and he had no choice but to admit, "I have no idea." A pause, then, sheepishly, "Awhile?"

"Do you want me to make you something? I'll make some tea, and some sandwiches. Something light, I think," Newt said, demonstrating once again his good memory when it came to his partner. Percival never was able to hold too much food down after a relapse, and Newt's quiet persistence that he eat something made him sway to liking the idea, if only to please him. "We can talk in the kitchen." Graves nods a little, and Newt presses one last kiss to his forehead before rolling up and off the bed, brushing a hand over his cheek again. "Take your time. A shower, maybe. Come out when you're ready."

When Newt leaves, Percival slowly makes his way out of bed. He showers. He brushes his teeth. But there are odd moments that speak of his remaining uncertainty -- he spends ten minutes just staring at the shower wall, doesn't straighten the bed, forgets to brush his hair, puts on old Ilvermorny sweatpants and a black t-shirt instead of his normal respectable ensemble. He feels raw and flayed open now that he's remembering what Grindelwald's escape really means for him, and what he really wants at this moment is not to go into the office and work his way down to the bone with his people. What he wants is to smell of fresh soap and be held and fed buttery sandwiches, selfish as that is, as much as he's trying not to hate himself for it. He spends a few minutes staring into his eyes in the mirror before he goes out to the kitchen. Maybe if he looks hard enough he'll remember the Graves he used to be.

When Percival walks in to the kitchen, Newt notices that he pauses at the door, with the same wounded, searching look his injured animals have. Newt doesn't say anything yet. He just sets down a cup of herbal tea and a sandwich cut in two pieces, beckoning for him to come sit on a stool at the counter. The Brit hops up onto the counter itself across from him and watches as Graves eats. It's tentative when he does -- Percival's hands are shaking a little bit, but he manages to get through it all, glancing to Newt as if for permission for every bite.

"I will never let him get to you again if I can help it."

Newt surprises them both by speaking first, aggressively, but there is no need for explanation. They both know exactly what he's talking about. And when they meet each other's gaze, Graves' eyes look a little less dead than they did a minute ago.

"But what if you can't help it? What if he gets to you instead?" and that's it, then, that's the real fear Percival has about all this. He would kill for Newt, unhesitatingly, without thought, without regret. He trusts that Newt would do the same for him. But he's scared, scared that somehow Grindelwald will come and find their little island of happiness again, scared that he is seen as the weak link in MACUSA, scared that he has no control over whether he breaks under the stress of preventing this madman's desire for power. For someone as precise as Percival Graves, the thought of not being able to plan what is coming next fills him with dread.

"I'm scared, Newt." It's the first time he's admitted it.

Newt laces their fingers together across the counter, and looks up to the ceiling, because his eyes are filling with tears. And because he doesn't know what to do, all he says is "I love you."

\---

Because, really, what else can he say?

There's no guarantee that Grindelwald won't find and take one of them.

There's no guarantee that they'll have anything past this moment together.

There's no guarantee for anything but the fact that they love each other.

Not in this war. Not in any war.

But Newt knows animals, and Newt knows that even the very last dragon of a species would never allow itself to be taken and killed willingly. It would go out fighting. And that's exactly what they're going to do.

\---

When Graves walks into the conference room again the next day, he still looks tired, but he's lost the caged animal look in his eyes. He's alert and ready. He looks less like a creature in threat of extinction and more like a creature ready to fight to defend itself.

And he's got a lanky, awkwardly-smiling magizoologist trailing behind him.

Graves doesn't wait for formalities, doesn't bother to introduce Newt, just throws his folder onto the table and starts talking. "Thanks to the Prime Minister's concern for my wellbeing, I have reviewed the evidence and found, indeed, that there are a few flaws in my information..." he doesn't stop to see the Minister's smug glance, but flips open the folder and keep going. "...namely, that the British prison was actually far behind ours in terms of security. Grindelwald was able to get out of there using nothing but his influence on the guards. Thanks to my imprisonment under his reign here, once I was found my entire Auror staff volunteered to guard the prison and he was not able to bribe any one of them." This is when he lifts his gaze, pinning his eyes on the Minister. "That tells me that my information is not biased, nor is my personal character. That tells me that our people are loyal. And yours are not."

He allows the shellshocked silence to fill the room for a good few seconds before continuing.

"Now, as for Grindelwald's escape while under British custody, I have discovered thanks to my magizoologist partner Newt Scamander, that there may have been a magical beast involved, based on the marks outside of his cell. Again, proof that we shouldn't look over magical creatures. I'll let Mr. Scamander explain that to you."

Percival could have sworn he saw Seraphina's eyes twinkle at him just before he sat down and took a drink of his tea.

\---

_Mr. Newt ~~Scamander~~ Graves,_

_I would like to offer my sincerest congratulations for managing to convert our dearest Percival from coffee to tea. Is it decaf? He looks like he's been sleeping. Packing a thermos with sandwich for lunch was also an ingenious move if I must say so myself. However, you may want to remind him that it is not appropriate to spend meetings giggling at whatever note you may have left in the lunchbox (yes, even despite the amusing shade of red Ms. Goldstein turned when she attempted to read it over his shoulder)._

_Sincere ~~st~~ thanks,_

_Seraphina Picquery_


End file.
